the northern wilderness. Then you may become
better acquainted with at least one of the men I have been trying to
picture to you.

"I was born in the heart of the northern forest, and in my wanderings
my steps have ever gone most willingly back toward the pine-covered
hills and the grassy glades that slope down to cool, deep waters. The
wanderlust has carried me far, but the lakes and waterfalls, the bluffs
and the bays of the great northern No-Man's Land are my home, and with
_Mukwa_ the bear, _Mah-en-gin_ the wolf, _Wash-gish_ the red deer, and
_Ah-Meek_ the beaver, I have much consorted and have found their
company quite to my liking.

"But the fates have so dealt with me that for two years I have not been
able to see the smile of Springtime breaking forth upon the rugged face
of my northern No-Man's Land. I have had glimpses of it, merely, among
crowded houses, out of hospital windows. Still, my mind is native to
the forest, and my thoughts and fancies, breaking captivity, go back,
like the free wild things they are, on bright days of springtime to the
wild land where the change of season means what it never can mean in
the town.

"What does Spring mean to you town folk, anyway? I will tell you. It
means lighter clothing, dust instead of sleet, the transfer of your
patronage from fuel man to ice man, a few days of slushy streets and
baseball instead of hockey.

"What does it mean to the man of the woods? That I will try to tell
you. It means that the deep snow which has mantled hill and valley for
five months has melted into brooks and rivulets which are plunging and
splashing away to find the ocean from whence they came. It means that
the thick ice which throughout the long winter has imprisoned the
waters of the lakes, is now broken, and the waves, incited by the south
wind, are wreaking vengeance by beating it upon the rocks of the
northern shore, until, subdued and melted, it returns to be a mere part
of the waves again. Instead of the hungry winter howl of the wolf or
the whining snarl of the sneaking lynx the air is now filled with
happier sounds: ducks are quacking; geese are honking; waveys are
cackling as they fly northward; squirrels among the spruce trees
chatter noisily; on sandy ridges woodchucks whistle excitedly; back
deep in the birch thicket partridges are drumming, and all the woodland
is musical with the song of birds.

"The trees, through whose bare branches the wind all winter ha